Normal1: Thawing
by Zil
Summary: Iceman reevaluates his marriage


Before I get any 'what the heck?' reviews, please read the following notes:  
no wait! Don't run away  
  
Disclaim!  
  
I do not own Scott Summers. Ye gads, if I owned the man...well, anyway. Marvel owns him and lots of other cool things too.  
  
  
"As if anything in my life has ever happened that I can use as I guideline for normal...In so many ways the world has changed completely...and in other ways it hasn't changed at all."  
-Scott Summers, UXM #337.  
  
Okay, so I'm paraphrasing a little. The point is, the X-men lead these far-out fantastical lives. Now there's nothing wrong with that, it makes for interesting reading, but it also leaves me snorting and saying 'That'd never happen in real life.'   
  
So what would happen in real life? This 'Normal' series are my ideas.   
  
Some things have changed a lot; some things are the same.  
  
Yes, I've screwed with some of the ages to fit my twisted little mind. It's not a lot though, and I think it's for good purpose.  
  
Also, I've (hopefully) written them in such a way that though they are numbered, any one story should be readable on it's own.   
  
If you like this scenario go to www.geocities.com/BourbonStreet/Bayou/8406/ordinary/ordinary/ordinary.html   
for an archive of other writers idea of 'ordinary' X-Men.  
  
Thanks for reading! Kevin Spacey loves me! (I don't get it either...)  
  
!Zil!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thawing  
  
  
Big thanx to evenstar for all her help  
Archive if you want (please tell me where)  
Marvel owns characters, ect. I make no money  
Feedback is fantastic  
!  
  
  
  
Love's like an elastic, when it gets stretched it either breaks or snaps back together.  
  
-Proverbial Zil(no, I don't do all my own proverbs...)  
  
  
  
Hot damn, I love her. That was the thought that went through my head the very first time I saw her, six years ago. Now, I'm not so sure. Now, there is a pair of toddlers jumping on my bed.   
  
"Owww!" And on me. I bolt upright and clutch my trampled stomach. "Geez zuz!" The words whistle through my clenched teeth as I struggle to hold back other, stronger, words. My inner turmoil over whether or not I love my wife is put aside momentarily. I definitely do not love them. Soft little hands touch my face.  
  
"Daddy hurt?" A small voice asks. I open my eyes. Two sets of blue eyes, the same shade as mine, stare back. Okay, I love them. All it takes is one look into their eyes and I fall in love with them all over again. If only it were that easy with everyone else.   
  
"Yes, Daddy's hurt. Beds are for jumping on, couches are for jumping on, and occasionally such things as trampolines are for jumping on, but daddies..."I reach out and grab an ankle in each hand, "are NOT for jumping on!" I pull their feet out from under them and start tickling. Tickle them till they pee. Good thing they're still in diapers. I let them go, and they both scoot off the bed, chests heaving as they gasp for air. Wallace races out the door still giggling, his bowl-shaped hair cut bouncing along. Not just platinum blond, but actually white, the same as his Uncle Pete's. Wanda says she's been told it comes from her father's side. Ruby starts to follow her brother, but stops at the door to turn and give me that mischievous smile. No mistaking her bright red curls, they're an exact match for Wanda's. Speaking of whom...my wife appears in the doorway just as Ruby leaves.   
  
"Hello, glad to see you're finally up." Is it my imagination, or is there something just a touch icy in her voice? My stomach hurts. She starts to pick up my clothes from the various places I threw them when I wandered in last night. Late last night. "You know, if you weren't going to come home to have supper with us, you could at least have gotten up for a family breakfast this morning. Or put in an appearance for lunch." I look at the clock. 1:00pm. "After all, you're going to be gone for a week." Crap.  
  
"Ohmigosh! When's my flight?" I throw myself across the bed and start scrambling through the sock draw.   
  
"Calm down. It's not until four." She sighs. I feel like scum.  
  
"Wanda, I'm sorry, it's just-"  
  
"You were busy last night. I know. You're always busy." She stops picking up my stuff and just stands there for a moment. There's nothing in her voice to betray her feelings. Not hurt or dejection, not even anger, only a bit of tiredness creeping in around the edges. As she walks out of the room, well, all hail the new King of Scum.   
  
After a shower I run a comb through my hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame it, it always just does it's own thing anyway. I grab a white shirt from the closet. It smells like flowers. Why do we keep buying that laundry detergent that smells? The answer comes to me almost immediately: because Wanda does all the shopping. I'm too busy. I didn't used to be. I used to like shopping. My record for getting lost in the supermarket was four and a half-hours. I could find the time to go if I wanted, but I just don't care anymore.   
  
(I don't love her.)  
  
(Yes I do.)  
  
I don't know. Why am I trying to make such a big thing over detergent? I am I trying to find excuses to be mad at her, when maybe I should be mad at myself? I don't know.  
  
I pull a fairly clean blue shirt out of the dirty clothes bin. It smells like me.   
  
I am Bobby.  
  
She is Wanda.  
  
I am 23 and she is 25.   
  
We have been married just over two years. We have two kids who are two years old, another on the way. And it's been just over two months since I think I fell out of love.   
  
We met at Xaivers, an exclusive prep school. We were in the same class because I was a year ahead and she was a year behind. I am half Jewish from a mother who stopped practicing before I was born. She is half Jewish from a father she never met. We live in a house that is an hour and a half drive from my family. We live a day and a half flight from hers. She came to America when her mother remarried, and her mother and twin brother moved back to Germany when her stepfather died four years ago. She stayed here with me. Because I asked her to. Does she regret it now? Does she regret our children even? I'm pretty sure the answer to that one is a negative. I remember when she told me, a few weeks ago, that we were going to have another baby. My first reaction was, 'do we have to?' The slap split my lip. I honestly didn't mean it that way. I was just really tired. Tired and not thinking. I love my kids, and I'll love any more that come along, but the idea of more kids at that moment, more nights up, feeding, changing, washing, it seemed too much. Couldn't we just ignore it and hope it goes away or something? Stick on a return to sender stamp?  
  
The cab pulls up while I'm sitting at the table munching a sandwich. Wanda's doing dishes, and the twins are watching Fred, the giant orange robot, on tv. The kids come and give me slobbery kisses as I get my coat on. I put my arms around Wanda. We just look at each other. For a scary moment it feels as though we're strangers. The cabby honks, I give her kiss on the forehead and walk down the front steps. The cab pulls away, I take a look back. Wally and Ruby are already inside, but Wanda's still standing on the porch, twisting the dishtowel in her hands.   
  
I arrive at the airport early, as usual. However, I'm alone, which is unusual. Normally we get a sitter when I'm going on a trip and Wanda will drive me to the airport. We make it into a date, watching the planes landing and taking off, sitting at the cheesy little cafes and making up stories about the people who walk by. Today I grab a coffee, pull up a small vinyl chair and attempt to get a head start on my work. It's a good job; the pay's excellent, even for an accountant. I am still thanking whatever lucky stars there are that I went to school with Warren Worthington III, and that he hired me as one of his Men In The Field. Basically, I fly here and there taking care of his business accounts in the States and occasionally abroad. Warren's a good friend and saves me the more interesting clients. This week I'm going to do taxes for an emu farm in California. He's actually relieved that I'll take the 'exciting' jobs, apparently most of his other accountants don't like emus.   
  
How do you tell if your accountant's an extrovert? He looks at your shoes instead of his own when he's talking to you.   
  
The only downside is the frequent travelling, but even when Wanda and I were getting along we found that the short separations contributed positively to our relationship. When meeting us for the first time one might think of that old axiom about opposites attracting, but that's not entirely the case. We definitely are different, Wanda's more quiet, gentle. She was a studious girl, a bit on the shy side when I first met her. I'm loud and outgoing, and blessedly a quick learner, which was the reason I got through high school. I was the boy you had to pry away from the Nintendo with a crow bar. On the other hand, Wanda can be the funnest person I know. She can make up dirty Limericks with the best of them, and no one can extract quite the same hilarity from a trip to the zoo. Scott says our children are going to be warped, and he is now afraid of giraffes, thank you very much. In my case the unexpected is that I am a damn fine accountant, something I once told an old friend from junior high and he laughed till beer came out his nose, and then said, 'Come on, what do you really do for a living?' Anyway, I tend to think of us as just having different strengths instead of being opposites. We used to fit together like pieces of a puzzle, but now there's something missing. A boarding call penetrates my thoughts and I realize I've been sitting here staring at my open briefcase for almost an hour.  
  
I find my seat on the plane and let the stewardess' spiel fade into the background as I settle in. Sitting in the airplane seat, smelling the airplane smells my mind drifts back to my last trip. No! No, bad mind! Not supposed to think of it. Not supposed to think of the trip to Mississippi...think of peanuts instead, salty little legumes. Don't think of the woman...ummm, seat belt, do up seat belt. Not about how I've been spending the last two months avoiding my wife... Angrily I punch the overhead compartment causing my oxygen mask to tumble down, making the attendant come rushing over to pay some attention to me. I'm more scared then angry though, because I'm not angry. There's nothing to be angry with Wanda about. It's me who's in the wrong, and I just can't seem to be angry with myself. I talked to Jean and she says confession is not always good for the soul, that Wanda will just be hurt, so don't do it again and just move on with life. She says she knows I love my wife. Wish I had that kinda of confidence. I know I'll never do it again, so why can't I move on?  
  
Staring out the window at the fields of the American Midwest, I think some more about Wanda when I first met her. She thought I was nuts, I thought she was wonderful. I persuaded her to go to the movies with me a few times, but then she started going out with another foreign student, the artistic Piotr. I did what any heart broken young man would do. I rented a karaoke machine. A portable one. And I set it up beneath the window of the girls dorm and sang 'It's Not Unusual To Be Loved By Anyone' over and over until she came out on the balcony. I told her I loved her, and some other sappy teenage stuff. She shouted that I was crazy and making a fool of myself, etcetera. She kept at it for a while, then she went inside. I went on singing about crazy love. She came back in about ten minutes, with a basket of water balloons. She is a very good shot. So I picked up my karaoke machine and headed back to my room. Ten minutes later I returned. With an umbrella. She broke up with Piotr and we went steady.   
  
Plane lands without bursting into flames, another successful flight finished. I wait with the rest of the grumpy business flyers, happy relatives and wide-eyed tourists at the shuttle stop. It's a slow little bus and I get through my airport shuttle song, essentially the words 'airport shuttle' crooned repeatedly to the original Star Trek theme, three times in my head before I reach my hotel. It's still kinda early, but I decide to just succumb to the effects of jetlag. Or I try to. Lying alone in a hotel room, there's nothing quite like it to make one feel so truly unimportant. It is to be forgotten, forsaken by all other human beings. I'm pretty sure an empty hotel room is a doorway to another dimension. A lonely one. All I feel is indifference toward my life. Yes, I've been an asshole these last months, but how much has it really changed things between us? We've been moving apart for a while. Somewhere I lost myself, and I don't know why. Maybe it was before I slept with Meg. Now here I am, slowly freezing, getting to that point of detachment from where there is no return, and no one is trying to stop me. Not that I deserve help.  
  
I want, no I need, something - anything! - that will tell me even though I am King of Scum, even though I am on one side of the grand Canyon and my wife is on the other, that I should not let this numbness overtake me.   
The phone rings. It's Wanda.  
  
"Is everything okay hon?" I ask, thinking of the kids and Ruby's button habit.  
  
"I really miss you."  
  
"I just left."  
  
"I'm not talking about this trip."  
  
"Neither am I." There's a moment of silence. "I'm so sorry sweetie." I grind my palm into my eye socket.  
  
"Bobby, I love you."  
  
"Oh, Wanda, thank-you." The words come out as a whisper. Something happens to me there on the phone. The ice that has been building up around my heart begins to melt. The first time I saw her, before I even heard her name, something inside me knew. Hot damn, I love her.   
  



End file.
